My Own Personal Hell
by BalqisQueen
Summary: On her last trip Underground, Sarah had a nasty habit of breaking things that got in her way. All Jareth wants is for her to make amends. That, and for her to stay with him forever, but he thought it unwise to tell her that. M for language and dark humor.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: As much as I love the Labyrinth universe, if it were mine, my head would probably spray confetti brain matter everywhere. I'd rather not clean up after it.**

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"Dude…you really need to get laid. Seriously."

"Been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt. Not playing anymore. Now, would you be so kind as to get the fuck out of here?"

Jareth, the Goblin King, was not in a good mood. In fact, other observers might have thought that he was tragically pining over the loss of an unrequited love, should they have been allowed in the King's presence. However, when this particular champion had wrested possession of her brother and even his heart from his unwilling fingers – before leaving him altogether, that is – Jareth felt ill-amused to humor any more guests.

So, wisely, most had decided it was best to honor the King's wishes.

All except one.

"Vlad, you heard me. _Get. Out._"

No, Vlad was a subject of a particular caliber. He didn't _snivel_, or_ grovel_. Such things were beneath him. Instead, when faced by his liege (who he thought, by the way, was in serious need of a pity fuck), he stood his ground.

Figuratively, of course. With no floor to stand on, thanks to his majesty, Vlad had been forced to improvise and simply _float_ in the free-falling throne room.

Well, maybe not floating. Vlad refused to call it that. He was levitating_ ominously_. It was an art!

_Still,_ he thought, _I would appreciate a floor. _

It was an accomplishment in and of itself that the castle was back together at all, but Jareth had needed his throne room to sulk properly. But seeing that a thousand goblins haphazardly floating around and colliding into one another was _still_ less chaotic than the normal bedlam that reigned in the place, he neglected to replace the floor.

Much to Vlad's secret amusement. He enjoyed punting the Goblins around almost as often as Jareth did, and now he had free reign. His favorite part was the screaming.

_Oh is it? Surely not,_ said the voice that, once upon a time, had been his conscience. It had become more…reasonable with the falling of years, but that didn't make it less annoying.

He looked down to find three or so goblins clinging to his foot, and smiled. _Tallyho. _

And he launched them off…

No, the screaming was definitely the best part. Goblins, to his dismay, were damn near indestructible, so their little cries of sheer terror was the closest Vlad could come to payback for the hell they had given him since his arrival.

_Now,_ he thought darkly, grinning, _if I could only do that to HIM…_

_Not advisable,_ cautioned his one-time conscience,_ kicking your liege lord and the elected King-of-Hell in the buttocks would definitely be considered 'treasonous activity'. _

A pause.

"_No matter how much it is deserved,"_ it added thoughtfully.

So instead, he_ reasoned_ with the king. As if that ever worked.

"Highness," he started, feigning humility in the face of his liege. "Please, I only wanted to help. Look around you."

He waved his hands in a flourish, hoping to catch Jareth's attention. Which was completely ignored, seeing that Jareth had better things to do.

Like spying on a fifteen year-old girl through magic crystals.

_Right…_

So Vlad did what any more-than-slightly psychotic demon entity would do, under such circumstances.

He stole the crystal.

There was a reason the kingdom was currently experiencing a scarcity of more-than-slightly psychotic demon entities. Unluckily for Jareth, King of the Goblins, Vlad was a bit smarter than those who came before him. Already he had woven his way through the kingdom's system, making himself absolutely integral to the workings of it.

Hell, the only reason the goblins bathed at all was because Vlad and his two rows of razor-sharp teeth had, ahem, _convinced_ them that it would be the right thing to do.

No, there would be no getting rid of Vlad. So Jareth, instead of having his goblins tear him limb from limb or even throwing him into the Bog of Eternal Stench, simply scowled and gave his least-favorite subject (well, except maybe _Hoggle, _that git) a death glare.

"Give that back, chap, and perhaps I'll see fit to leave you with your legs," he tried, flatly. The threat wouldn't work, he knew, but Vlad would be hard-pressed to deny a direct order from his sovereign. He would follow it, eventually.

"Hmm…how do you make this doohickey work?" said Vlad, ignoring the King completely. He was fiddling with the orb like it was some puzzle to be solved. "Never mind. I'll never quite understand why you enjoy playing with your balls so much when you could simply just go to her and – "

"Thank you for that suggestion. Now, may I…?"

Vlad tossed the crystal back to him carelessly. "Whatever. Have fun pining after some prepubescent girl. I knew better twelve-year-olds, back in my day."

"Didn't need the image, Vlad. "

"Oh please, don't look at me like I'm some pervert. Considering the jailbait I've seen you run around with when you played 'rock-star' a few years back. Besides, girls were having children that young, back then."

"Enough, Vlad."

"Of course with the mortality rate as it were, people HAD to fuck like rabbits – "

"ENOUGH."

"Fine, fine. 'Enough with the good-ole-days', I hear you. It just isn't as _fun_ anymore, I tell you – but anyways."

Vlad straightened up as if he was shifting into a more serious discussion. His eyes narrowed and with that, the look of his face became vaguely unsettling. It wasn't a threatening look, per se, but there would be no more funny business.

"Jareth – look around you. Your subjects are in disarray. The labyrinth is decaying on itself, and there hasn't been a summoning in months. _Your castle is almost falling down from beneath your feet_, and all just because some girl and her silly imagination came trouncing through. How can you call yourself a king?"

Jareth seethed. 'You dare – "

"I dare. In fact, I have the right to dare considering I was once a lord myself, long ago. But enough of that. _Get yourself together_. I don't care how you do it, even if you go off on another ten year orgy spree. At least then I might be able to put your kingdom back together before you come back to wreck it again."

There was a very, very pregnant pause.

"One more thing," breathed Vlad wearily, "your royal mailbox has been lost again. I have reason to believe it has appeared, this time, in the Tree of Knowledge. Meaning I can't go near it."

But Jareth was lost in thought. Vlad, he supposed, was right. He was used to being lonely, annoyed, and miserable, so what had really changed? The girl bothered him greatly, to be sure. It had disturbed his equilibrium to know he could be so…disrupted, and his rule had been wrecked as a result. Which meant exactly one thing:

"Sire, are you even listening to me?"

He needed the girl.

"Oh, I give up. It's the middle of the day, and I'm tired. Wake me up if, for some reason, you regain your chaotic sense of sanity."

On that note, Vlad simply let himself fade from the throne room to wherever it was – not even Jareth knew for sure – he made his residence.

He probably should have stayed. If he did, he would not have missed the gleaming smile forming on his liege's face.

Jareth was a man (well, maybe _man_ was the wrong word) determined. He was back.

And he would get his way.

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The Labyrinth was a creature of chaos, and everything, from the lowliest goblin to the King himself was a figment of it. It fed on insanity and unraveling wit that abounded, not only in its world but the one Above.

It would gorge itself with these things, the stuff of dreams and nightmares and, finding it could hold no more, spit it out _en masse_ and send its grasp across the dimensions until, finally, its echoes would find the earth and live there. That was how the first demons were born and how still they were made.

But besides being such a mechanism, the Labyrinth was also supposed to be a kingdom, ruled by a king who presided, in an orderly fashion, over his duly obeying subjects.

Being a creature of chaos, however, made such matters a tad paradoxical in nature. Rule at best was disorganized and for most of its day, the Labyrinth was a center of literal pandemonium. The inhabitants found that, really, there was only one rule: do not upset the King.

Jareth, as he was called occasionally, was the sole creature of the Labyrinth he wielded any sort of real power. His capricious will may not have been law, but disobeying it found oneself headfirst in the Bog of Eternal Stench. Avoiding a first meeting with him was probably the smartest thing that could be done.

The Labyrinth was supposed to be a Kingdom. In the end it was only a cold mockery of one.

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**A.N. Well! First fanfiction, as you might have guessed…or not. I doubt it was that good. Anyhow, did you like it? Hate it? Slightly disgusted by the mention of statutory rape? REVIEW! I MAKE COOKIES.**

**Oh, one thing: Vlad is supposed to be…creepy. And he does make a point about the under-aged…(I should probably quit while I'm ahead, right? RIGHT.) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Labyrinth isn't mine. David Bowie isn't mine. What is mine is an insufferable ego and a large amount of self-conceit.**

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For not quite the first time in her life, Sarah was besieged by an evil greater than herself – one that, if she let it, would eat her alive.

Her homework.

It was foul in sight, malicious in thought, and had nothing but sinful intentions. The wicked, wicked thing.

She had put the assignment off for a week, and now it was due tomorrow. Her English teacher (_wretched old bint_, thought Sarah caustically) had thought it a wonderful idea to assign an essay over Spring Break.

As if Sarah hadn't had anything better to do! It was _break_, for christ's sake! That meant _no_ homework. None. Most teachers got the memo and staved off the Hitleresque attitude for once, but Ms. Stakler, never to be outdone, put on her best fuehrer mustache and laid down 'the law'.

Sarah could still remember the moment:

"_Oh come on, it won't be that bad," Ms. Stakler said, trying – and failing miserably – to act reassuring. "Literary archetypes are fascinating manifestations, and they're everywhere! The essay should be a snap."_

The whole class universally groaned.

"_And," she added thoughtfully, "you'll enjoy it. High school students rarely get to investigate this deeply into what they're studying. Think about all the mental adventures you embark upon. The research! The discovery! Nothing in the world is truly original, children, and now is as good a time as any to learn to be in awe of it."_

Then, with the sort of relish distinct to English teachers who live to deny the presence of homosexuality in any novel (_A Separate Peace_, anyone?), she handed out the assignment.

Of course, Ms. Stakler wasn't through with Sarah yet. Sarah was her _favorite_ student, and the teacher never made any attempt to hide it.

As she came to Sarah's desk, she noisily whispered in her ear:

"_I'll enjoy your essay, Ms. Williams. In fact, I bet you have it already up there in your head!"_

The whole class had heard and had not been amused.

_As if Paul and Jean and the others didn't already hate her enough_, thought Sarah miserably. _Now I'm 'teacher's pet'. _

It really, really wasn't Sarah's fault that she liked stories, once upon a time, and had devoured them the way a wolf gobbles up little children. Her classmates had thought her weird for it, but she had never really known why.

Looking back now she had figured that it was probably the cosplaying – when she'd dress up as her favorite characters and act out scenes in the all-too public park. People could only tolerate so much geekdom from a person.

That included herself.

Sarah learned that she was, _ahem_, too obsessed only a few months back when she had had the most fantastical, plot-driven dream of her life. It had worked out like a lot of the stories she loved and admired – the plucky heroine battles the forces-of-evil and, in doing so, learns a valuable lesson. She had even enjoyed the dream, but witnessing _herself_ running through some corny maze had really put things in perspective for her.

She needed a life. Badly.

She had made friends with a hobbit of all things! Sure, it was a bit ruder than she expected and the name (_Hoggle_, something soft in her whispered) was a bit hokey for Lord of the Rings, but it had been a hobbit all the same. And her mind had invented it all.

Afterwards she tried to normalize. Sure, she kept her active and vivid imagination, and she still gobbled up novels like nothing else, but she didn't play dress-up in the park anymore. She threw away her fantasy filled notebooks (which were laden with a discomfortingly large number of pictures of a king that resembled her mother's boyfriend) and instead tried to socialize with the other kids.

And, surprisingly enough, they began to accept her, sort of.

That is, until Ms. Statler came along.

Ms. Statler loved every facet of fiction the way Sarah used to like her fantasy: obsessively, and completely oblivious to how other people thought of her for it. Unfortunately, the first day of school, she had pegged Sarah to be a kindred spirit of sorts.

She was a nice enough lady, and Sarah grudgingly admitted that she knew how to teach her stuff, but _she wouldn't leave Sarah alone_.

That, and she was a hard ass. She made the class read a very graphic book on the Holocaust over Christmas break.

No, she wasn't a particularly fun teacher, and Sarah hated her for it. The friends she had close to making had run away under the intense and overprotective glare of the teacher.

So, looking at the massive assignment (which, coincidentally, was due the day after tomorrow), she could only think…_Why does the world hate me so much? Why me? It's not fair._

_You say that so often…_

Sarah's brain crashed to a halt. _Hehe, let's NOT think about that._

Anyways…she had her assignment. Ms. Stakler had been right about it being right up Sarah's alley; her knowledge of mythology, fantasy, and fairy tale really ought to make it easy. In fact, a few months ago Sarah would have loved the assignment. It would be, at the very least, an effortless A.

But the labyrinth happened and now…Sarah viewed things differently.

She looked at her list again, which, with the assignment, the teacher had passed out. It contained several archetypes, described them, and even gave a few examples. At 3500 words and seven pages it had been a bit…verbose (her teacher's work, no doubt), but so far it had been fairly useful.

She had to pick one. She even could go outside of the examples, if she wanted, but this particular part she found the most difficult. It wasn't that she couldn't write an essay on any of them – she could – but how to avoid writing the Labyrinth!

Or its king.

Hmm…

_Well,_ she thought,_ let's start over. First on the list? Ahh…hero._

Pictures of her running through the Labyrinth raced through her head. Her desperation, her confusion…her banter with the King.

Moving on!

Next on her list: Trickster. Like the former, it wasn't really an option. The king, with his fruit and his hollow words more than fit this category.

One by one she went through the list, crossing items out as she went along. _Casanova_ was definitely off, as was _The Villain_, _Devil_, and _The Saboteur._ She paused at _lover_, but then, remembering the peach dream and his heart aching words in the end made her scratch that out with impunity.

Some were a bit more acceptable. _Knight_, for example, brought to mind fond memories of Sir Didymus and his exploits. _The Repentant Sinner_ was most obviously Hoggle. She nearly laughed at the sight of _The Wise Old Man_. _Wise my ass,_ she thought,_ he sent me off in the wrong direction!_

But _these_, she could do. She still wanted to avoid the Labyrinth as much as possible, but if worse came to worse, she at least had something to write about.

It wasn't until the very end of the list that Sarah found exactly what she was looking for._ Seductress_, it read.

_Seductress_. _La femme fatale._ _La Belle Dame sans Merci_. She was a creature of many names, most of them seemingly French in origin. Quickly going back over her "adventures" in the Labyrinth, Sarah found no example of the elusive archetype.

_Perfect._

Sarah read a little more. The Seductress was always female, thus the name. Unlike the _Cassanova_ she used her wiles for purposes more complex than mere pleasure. She always had a goal of some sort, although rarely was this ever defined clearly. It was her task to take man and rip him down to his lowest, meanest form.

She was quite, quite cruel.

"A bit like you, my pet."

Sarah went rigid. The voice had come out of nowhere, but it sounded strangely like…Jareth.

She shrugged it off. It was dark and outside a storm was beginning to brew. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. Wouldn't be the first time.

She went back to work. The Seductress. Sarah hadn't encountered that one so much in her readings. They typically were more romantic affairs, complete with princes, maidens in distress, and disturbingly perfect apples. _Seductress_ was a bit more PG-13 than what she dealt with.

_Hum…_

Yawning, she looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly midnight. She ought to turn in, but first she'd put down a few examples. The essay she'd write tomorrow.

Examples. Right. Well…the founder of the archetype was Eve in the Garden, right? She seduced Adam into taking the apple. And there were mermaids, who lured sailors to their death. And…hey, weren't, like, half of the Bond Girls supposed to be femme fatales? Sarah was on a roll.

But it was bedtime. Her father, stepmother, and baby brother had turned in hours ago. So she got up from her desk and turned around, ready to climb into her waiting bed.

Except that it was occupied. Sarah went to scream, but shut her mouth before she could wake the rest of the house.

Really, she had never noticed just how _long_ the Goblin King was until she found him absolutely draped over her bed. His feet dangled over the ends. As for the man – for lack of better word – himself, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Too peacefully. In fact, if Sarah was seeing correctly, he was getting drool all over her sheets. Gross.

It was just too surreal. _Maybe I _am_ asleep_, she thought hopefully. _This is all just one perverse nightmare._

She looked at him again and slapped her head. _Perverted, more like_. _The man wears leggings tighter than a dancer_'s.

Then a thought occurred to her. Speaking in a hushed voice so as not to wake the others, she demanded, "Get up!"

To reiterate her point she hurled her much abused pencil at him.

"Oww. "

Direct hit.

"Such abuse, beloved. I take what you begged for me to take, and you break my ballroom. I assist you with your homework, and you hurl a pencil at my head."

His voice sounded bored, of all things. He could have been talking about the weather.

Sarah was seething, but refrained from comment. The bastard had a way of turning her words around whichever way she used them.

If he noticed her anger at all, he ignored it. "Although I do congratulate you on your aim," he said, collecting himself. Now he sat up on the bed, positioned so that he could see the mirror on the other side of the room. "It only _just_ missed my left eye. Regretful, I suppose, for _you_."

The bastard was fixing his hair. With HER mirror.

Unacceptable.

Sarah nearly exploded. "What the hell do you want, you…you overfed figment of my imagination!"

He snorted, guffawed, and then simply laughed uproariously.

"Oh hush!", Sarah whispered violently. If her dad heard that…if he came in the room and saw _him_…

Sarah would not be hearing the end of it.

"Ah Sarah," he said between peals of laughter, "I forgot how deliciously _naïve _you were – still are. Imaginary…_really_. Like any mind could conceive of _me._"

_Well, so much for expectations of a normal life,_ thought Sarah, _I'm going straight to the Looney Bin after this._

Jareth began strutting about her room, randomly lifting her stuff. Sometimes, as with the case of her snow globe, he would lick it curiously.

_Yup. Definitely off to the crazy house_.

She tried again.

"What do you want?"

He turned to her and gave her a haunted look that tried to bore its way into her soul.

Then he smiled, and the expression was gone.

"Same thing I've always wanted. Peace, some semblance of harmony. A wife, 2.3 kids, and a picket fence. You know…" he waved his hand vaguely, "Paradise."

"No. But what I really want, my dear, is for you to…ah, _fix_ a few things that are broken."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. She was wary.

He saw this, smiled more broadly, and continued. "That _you_ broke, to be exact. On your last little romp through my labyrinth, you had a tendency of turning things topsy-turvy. I think it is only fair that you took responsibility."

He still smiled, but his eyes reflected a sort of venom that Sarah in her young life had never encountered. It was all rather unsettling, to be stuck alone in her bedroom, a storm brewing outside, and a fully fledged Goblin King giving her a look that was more killer than the one he'd given her when he first took her brother. She backed away slowly, trying to find some strength in the wall behind her.

But it never materialized. Instead of the comforting warmth of her bedroom, she felt a sudden cool on her back that hadn't been there before. She turned around only to find herself looking from the inside out.

She saw again the moor, where he had first taken her. Turning around to face the King she saw that the whole of the room had absolved. She panicked for a moment but then steeled herself. Putting what she hoped was a threatening expression on her face, she said, coldly, "Bring me back, you fucking fairy. I didn't wish to be here."

The Goblin King still smiled. "It is a pleasure, dear, to be around you when you're angry. It really brings the green out in your eyes. Now," he said, his tone becoming more businesslike, "like I said, you owe me. That means the normal rules – wishes and the like – are out. You will follow me."

And without even waiting for her, he turned and headed for the gates.

Sarah had no choice but to follow. After all, what could she do? He was the only one who could send her home. It would do no good to lose him, at this point.

He only looked back for a moment to see her there. "Ah good," he said, "You decided to be reasonable. Now we will go to my castle."

She was dumbfounded. "Why? Didn't you need me to fix something?"

She heard his laugh, distinct for the almost metallic sound it made in the windswept valley, sound in the midnight air. "Of course, dearest. But all in good time. First we need to get you out of your nightclothes. I doubt you'll want to run around bare-legged as you are."

After a pause, he added, "Although that would be quite amusing. Now come along. It is evening, and I can assure you that a night-run of the Labyrinth is not a walk in a rose garden. "

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**A.**N: **Wow…quick update! I'm going on vacation soon, so I'm churning these out as fast as I can. **

**Love it? Hate it? Think something is horribly wrong with my sense of humor? Then help me out and LEAVE A REVIEW. The cookie offer still stands.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: As a chattel slave to various obsessions, I don't even own my own toe-nails. How can I be expected to own **_**The Labyrinth**_**?**

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It was nighttime in the Labyrinth.

It was nighttime, and all about its many gates, little fairies played amongst the dewy grass, their lights casting ephemeral colors on the worn stone. As they flitted from flower to flower, the bells on their toes would tingle and send music ringing into the moonlit eve.

Other than that, all was quiet. It was at this hour that the normal denizens of the maze would retreat into their burrows, homes, and hamlets in the hope that, tomorrow, the sun would shine once again upon their lives. The only sounds they made whilst they slept were occasional contented sighs as they dreamed, in peace for the fleeting moment.

It was at this hour, also, that the other world of the labyrinth awoke. It existed only in silence – shadows made their rounds, the prey ran, and the predators killed – all in silence. It was not attuned to the fanatical mirth that day brought, for in its mind and utter heart, it never saw the reason for such things.

It – this world – sat in the quiet, and merely lurked. Day knew nothing of it.

The serenity of the world of the night on this eve, however, was suddenly broken by the appearance of a strange girl in pink pajamas. She was soon followed by the King of the Labyrinth – for this place recognized him too as their sovereign – and the two of them stood outside the main gate. Together.

The girl must have been cold, for the night was chill. After a brief exchange of words – cacophony in the sound of silence - the king removed his cloak and put it around her shoulders.

His explanation was short ("-you might catch a fever, and I really don't want to deal with an epidemic should you get your germs around – ") and then they were silent.

Then his majesty began to walk. At his unspoken command, the gate opened, and he ushered the girl inside, his face speaking of bored disdain while hinting of other things.

Darker things, for sure. The king's smile was a tad grimmer than it was want to be.

But then again, it _was _the night. The moon, the air… the very atmosphere itself united to make everything just a little dimmer.

Come day it would surely be different.

Surely.

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For a while, they walked quietly, stiffly. Sarah kept two steps behind the Goblin King, because, of course, he knew the way.

That, and should they come across an open oubliette, it would be he to fall in and be fondled by the so-called "helping" hands.

Sarah unconsciously snorted at the image, drawing her companion's attention.

"Something amuse you, love?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not important."

"Ah."

They sunk again into silence, and Sarah surveyed the world around her once more. She would have hardly recognized it from her last stay. Certainly parts were quite familiar. Earlier they had passed, to her amusement, the two riddle guards. Unable to move from their posts, they took to sleeping on their shields, their rather loud snores sending shudders through the otherwise complacent night.

Above, where the sky had been painted every shade of blue and burnt orange, it was now a sea of deep ink, interrupted only now and then by a scattering of stars. The moons – there were two – cast drowsy pale light upon the maze-scape and the two souls who walked within it. Sarah's pajamas, which had been bright pink, were reduced to a luminescent sort of cream that contrasted queerly with her soft white skin.

It was all quite strange, to Sarah. To her, it wasn't as if day had passed into night, but rather someone had taken a paintbrush and draped black all over the scenery.

So enveloped was she with the sheer scope of _everything_, that Sarah barely took note of the Goblin King saying something.

"Pardon?" she asked, clearly distracted.

This time the Goblin King's smile was soft, almost wistful. "You _are_ enjoying my Labyrinth, I see. Well, don't let me bother you."

Sarah recognized that she had been rude, and, what was more surprising, that she felt bad that she had ignored him.

Yes, she was going insane. But, that gave her no reason to be rude to her company – err, captor. "No, really. Tell me."

Jareth gave a laborious sigh, as if it grieved him to answer. "Well…if you _insist_. I was just curious about something."

Sarah waited expectantly. "Go on."

"Did you really think…that I was imaginary?"

He blurted out the last bit.

Sarah blinked. "Wait. What?"

"I don't make it a habit to repeat myself three times."

And like that, the strange truce brokered between them by the night air was broken. If the atmosphere had a literal presence, it would have sighed exasperatedly and yelled, "_Well shit. I give up._"

As it was, the wind began to blow harder. Several leaves made their way into Sarah's hair.

The two of them simply stood in the middle of the hedge maze, gawking at one another.

Sarah, incredulous, finally managed to rally and make some semblance of coherent noise. "Well…yeah. I sort of still do."

"What!" he fumed. "Seriously? I give…I give you everything – or I would, if you would only _let _me, - and _you_ have the gall to think that this is all just some weird, marvelous_ dream._ Is that right?"

Sarah was at loss for words. He was usually so smooth – like, in the Labyrinth last time, _he_ had always been in command, and _she_ had been left cowering. Now…it was different. In front of her, he was breaking and insecure. She didn't know how to respond.

Explaining the situation seemed logical.

"Goblin King…_Jareth_, you have to understand. _What the hell am I supposed to think_? You're a fairy king straight out of some medieval fantasy world. I'm an American teenager in the year 1986. This," and she waved her hand around the beautiful landscape,_ "is too fucking weird _to be real. It just is."

"Besides," she added thoughtfully, "you look like my favorite rock star. If that isn't a dream, I don't know what is."

The King had visibly calmed down. Whether it was because the explanation had any impact, or because Sarah – _his_ Sarah– had used one of his names, rather than the formal title.

It was a start.

His smile was radiant. "Oh do I now? Now, _love_, why may that be?"

Sarah didn't get the sarcasm that was literally dripping from his mouth. They were walking along, two people, and they were having an intelligent conversation. That was all. "Yeah, well I saw him a few years ago, back when he was with my mother and – "

_Wait._

That was when it registered.

"Are you…him?"

"Maybe, princess. What do you think?"

Sarah punched him in the jaw.

"Ow! Hell…what was that for?"

"You…jerk! You dumped my mother!"

"Wait. What? No!"

"She was crying for a month, you freak!"

"I thought you said you liked me!"

"I like your music, dumbass! You ripped my mother to pieces."

"Sarah? Please, I can explain…"

"Like hell you can."

With that she stormed off into the silence of the maze. She didn't really care where she was going, so long as she could get away from that huge, insufferable _prick_.

She should have cared.

Like Jareth said earlier, a night-run of the Labyrinth was no walk in a rose garden. Had she stayed with the King, it might have been alright – after all, this nighttime realm still paid homage to the ruler…when he was around. When he wasn't they would play their games as if he never existed.

Sarah, indeed, had run the Labyrinth, and in ten hours too. But that was during the _day_, when the worst she ever had to worry about was a smelly bog and hallucinogenic fruit.

Now it was evening time, and it was so very cold. Sarah, even wearing the King's cloak as she was, felt the chill run across her, saw her breath before her eyes, and so slowed her run to a walk.

_Now_.

And the Darkness gave chase. Its prey was easy, small, and angry. The hunt would end soon enough.

At the last minute Sarah felt the sudden jaws of coldness clasp near her, and ran instinctively. She sped off into the night, not knowing why and when she looked behind her, not even seeing why, but she knew _she must run_. If she stopped…

She didn't know how to complete the sentence.

As it was, however, it was gaining on her. While she stumbled through the hedge maze and met dead ends, it plowed through methodically, knowing every turn it came upon and as a result, knowing where _she_ would go.

It was only complete and utter luck that saved her. Either that, or Jareth knew her too well. Just as the _thing_, whatever it was, was about to corner her, she fell through an oubliette.

Oubliettes were magical places. Dark and scattered as they were, they were made for forgetting. No sooner had Sarah fell than did the pursuit end, the predator wholly uninterested in what it had just been tracking. It went off to go seek prey elsewhere.

In other words, Sarah was fine. Unhappy about landing in an oubliette, somewhat scuffed from her run, and having a serious bruise on her ass from where it hit the ground, but in sound physical, mental, and even psychological condition.

That was the position Jareth found her in, five minutes later when he decided to formally rescue her.

She was less than happy to see him. "You could have come sooner," she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you would want the time to…how do you say it? Cool off."

He gave her his hand. "Ready to go?"

She scowled and slapped the hand away. "I'll get up myself, thank you."

"If it motivates you, we're almost there."

"Where?"

"The Castle."

"Great. First an armed escort. Now the prison."

"You know, you really should thank me. I opened this oubliette for you."

_If Jareth expects a thank you, then he's got another thing coming_.

Sarah, having brushed the dirt off her knees, got up. "Well," she muttered, trying to stabilize herself, "you could have saved us the trouble and just 'pouffed' us there."

"What? Didn't quite catch that first part…did you just say 'pouf'?"

"Drop it. Point is, you're a creep, you chased me off in the first place, and whenever you go places, you 'pouf' and get glitter everywhere."

Jareth had the dignity to look insulted. "I do not _pouf_. I might be a jerk, but I have – "

"Like I said, drop it. Just get me out of here, before a collapse again."

Suddenly, Jareth was concerned. Yes…she must be exhausted. He had found her as she was going to sleep and had taken her here instead, where they had walked, argued, and downright _chased_ one another for hours.

So he repeated, this time much more gently. "Don't worry. We're almost there. Then…then you may sleep, if you so wish."

Sarah looked at him wearily. "You sure?"

He smiled. "Watch this."

He conjured a crystal and made it a doorknob, and then connected it to the wall. "Go on! Open it."

It was a little absurd, but Sarah remembered Hoggle's trick. It would work. So she grasped the handle, turned it, and slowly but surely, the little door opened.

She gasped.

It was the throne room.

__________________________________

**A.N: Eh? How was it? I have this horrible habit of going, on one extreme, to complete enrapture and then to total irreverence. Let me know what you think.**

**Also, thank you for the wonderful reviews. It really is encouraging to see that people like my style. In fact, I probably spend more time looking at the "statistics" part of and than I do actually writing. I know I'm a n00b writer, and it takes a lot of patience to deal with that sort, but thanks for reading. Even if you don't review, you read, favorite and do all sorts of wonderful things that I can, to some extent, geek out and bubble over for.  
**

**As always, REVIEW. I won't improve my writing any if people don't tell me why I particularly suck.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. However, in an alternate universe, where I am Queen Of Everything, Especially The Pants, I do own David Bowie. Not in this one, though.**

At least, she thought it was the throne room. Most of the floor was missing, except for some flotsam floating here or there, and beyond that…a black abyss, a yawning chaos that seemed to swallow all things, all dimensions…

Well, despite that, it was the Throne Room, and that meant three things remained constant; there was a throne; the heady smell of ale and straw _still_ permeated, despite the Infinite it was expected to fill; and there were chickens. Everywhere. _Bloody hundreds of them. _

Jareth sighed a little and shook his head. "Sorry love," he murmured, in what was surprisingly _nearly_ apologetic. Then – "WILL ALL YOU FRAGGING CHICKENS _KINDLY_ VACATE THE PREMISES, AND THROW YOURSELVES IN THE OVEN FOR TOMORROW'S SUPPER!"

This must be said about the Goblin King; he knew how to project. In a cavernous room dampened by straw, dung, and a millennial build-up of utter stupidity, he managed to make himself heard by every chicken suspended in the Oblivion. And, to everyone's surprise, a few of them actually _left_.

Another little rule about the Labyrinth: _Everyone suffers and is suffered by something_. The chickens were Jareth's cross to bear, and he, in exchange, wasborne by the whole population of the Labyrinth. And then _they_ got to eat the chickens at supper the next day, completing the cycle.

One floated close by Jareth as it was leaving, and Sarah was surprised to hear the King _cluck_ a bit to his would-be tormentors, in what seemed to be serious – agitated, yes – but _completely serious discourse. _

It was too much. Far too much.

She tried to hide it, she did – at first, it came out as a few hiccoughs, sniffles, and the like – but then it simply dissolved into chest-heaving guffaws of laughter as Jareth turned towards her, tilted his head to the side questioningly – _and looked exactly like a chicken_.

He frowned at her, eyes narrowing, but she was lost. _His – his hair! His silly, pouffed up, eau-du-poulet hair! _Wait – she _needed_ – she took a deep, deep breath, shuddering even as she did so.

"Bawk-bawk-" she tried, but couldn't complete it, breaking down into giggles once more. "Bawk – heh – BAWKAHH!"

She fell to the floor – which didn't really exist, she observed, not really caring, besides the four foot square she and Jareth _both_ occupied – and simply _rolled off_, plunging into the abyss. She fell, perhaps, for _forever_, as the black closed around her, deeper and more oppressive – but she didn't notice. She was trying too hard to breathe. Where was – where was the air? She –

Jareth caught her, finally. By then, she was already passing out from what her body construed to be sudden total oxygen deprivation. That, somehow, she had fallen into a vacuum – an impossible one – but logic had been suspended in lieu of more necessary functions. Like _surviving_. She woke up, _cradled _in Jareth's arms, his hands, shaking, checking her pulse, feeling her forehead; his mouth whispering in her ear fear-laced platitudes, urging her to _wake, my love, oh please open your eyes, please – I'm so sorry – I –_

She opened them, and as quickly as she did so, he detached himself, somewhat. Oh yes, she was still literally draped on top of him, but his hot breath was no longer coursing along her neck; his hand, not to be totally removed, had merely be transferred to her own, where it would be more socially acceptable.. And he was tense. Very tense.

She blinked, and weakly chuckled, "You can breathe, if you like. I won't stop you."

He stared and simply nodded. The breath he took literally _shook_ her as he shuddered it out. But he was calm. Slowly, almost reticently, he brushed a lock of her hair to the side, stroking it softly.

"_Ahem_,"

They looked up. There, sitting in _of all things, _Jareth's _throne_, was a thing that could have been called a man had it not been for a few fundamental differences – namely that men didn't have eyes so shiny or black, or teeth that…toothsome. That was literally the only word for it – _toothsome_; far too many, far too caringly polished, far too blanched. It was like he had walked out of a funeral parlor, dusty black suit and all; and he smiled like he knew exactly what became of the unfortunate undertaker dressing him at the time.

(Oh, and he had a mustache; a spectacular bushy one that one expects that only Genghis Khan could have pulled off, but suited him perfectly well.)

Surprisingly, he managed to pull off The Throne quite well; despite the fact that it was _obviously_ made for slouching - in only the most imperial of manners, of course - he sat upright, with feet firmly planted on the ground, _sneering_ at them.

He filled the space quite well.

Three things happened at once in that moment:

The first was a sudden relaxation of the thing's sneer, a side glance at Jareth, followed by a "Damn, you've already fixed the floor."

The second was Jareth frantically looking back and forth between Sarah and the thing, and finally in a voice much louder and more sing-song than he realized, "Sarah – this is Vlad! He's-"

Then finally, a full second after _that_, Sarah managed to get her brain to stop freaking out about the _teeth_ to yell, "VAMPIRE!" and then throw herself out of Jareth's arms and against the opposite wall of the throne room. She made a cross with her fingers.

Then she realized, all of the sudden, that _holy fuck_, there _was_ a floor, and looked questioningly at Jareth. He smiled lightly and said, "Sarah – "

"Ok, just _stop_. Just…I honestly don't care if you start going at it on the dung-strewn _floor_, just _stop_ with the saccharine, the googly-eyes, and the – _and don't you dare, my lord_ – the unrequited love _puppy-dog _look. Gagh, I mean _let a man_ – demonic entity – _know. _This is just undignified."

Jareth rolled his eyes, and tried again. "Sarah, this is Vlad. Vlad, Sarah."

Sarah looked away, only pressing her improvised cross forward a little more earnestly.

Vlad glanced at her, then rose affectedly from the throne and _stalked _over to where Jareth was strewn out along the floor. "Some girl. Quite the…_catch_, if you will," he smirked, "get it, sir? Catch? _CATCH?_"

He laughed for a whole minute, realized that Sarah was looking at him confusedly, that Jareth was getting ready to _murder_ him, and that _he_, himself, was terribly, _terribly_, fond of puns, and laughed even more.

Then he stalked over to Sarah, and offered her his hand, "Come now, child – this isn't your _world_ – this is my _Hell_, and so, even if I _wanted_ to do something, I couldn't. Veritable cockblock, if you will. So we might as well make the best of it."

She didn't take it, but did stand up again, still a little wobbly after the fall. She leaned against the wall, realized suddenly that Vlad was no more than _six inches_ away from her neck, and squeaked –and in the next he was gone in a pouf of glitter.

Jareth had finally thrown a crystal at him…and as quickly replaced him beside Sarah. Frankly, the contrast should have been more imposing, because Vlad had stood a full foot taller, and had row upon row of viciously sharp teeth. But no, this was worse.

Jareth was expecting a _thank you_. And you know what? Sarah didn't particularly want to _deal_ with that right now. He was _still_ a smarmy bastard, and doing what any basic human being should do for another wasn't going to make her go all 'heaving-breasts' on him, like in those trashy romance novels Karen read. It didn't even – it didn't even warrant – the man had _slept_ with her mother! And dragged her back Underground for an as yet unstated reason.

She was…so very, very tired. So, slowly, she crawled around him, heaved herself on his throne, and slouched – _yes_, slouched – across it. It was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked, honestly, and so, without even giving Jareth another look, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.  
_

She missed the incredulous, then suddenly comprehending, and finally very tolerant, almost _adoring_ look that Jareth gave her. Vlad however, thanks to his oft-forgotten incorporeal form, did not.

And no, Jareth never lived that down. _Ever_.

**AN: ...Wow. This has been a while. All I can say is, sincerely, that yes, school is a bitch (although everything is better with Aristophanes), and that the idea of writing a narrative longer than fifteen pages honestly terrifies me. Because, while I do write quite a bit, and I am the proud owner of my own particularly insane universe - I write it mostly as a series of short stories, and isolated events that only make sense if you look at the big picture and relate them all to one another. It's like the Cthullhu Mythos, except I only have three horrifying break-your-brain gods. Everyone else is just snarky. Why do I write like that? Because physically sitting down and figuring out a 100+ pages takes serious cajones, which I don't have. Many of you do, and you guys are awesome.**

**Anyways, a few notes; I'll try to update this more, now that I am technically a more "mature" individual, but I can't promise stupid things like Finals or Real Life won't get in the way. I'll at least try to let you guys know about it more.**

**Also, vampires are awesome. You will probably realize that I'm a bit (A BIT!) obsessive over them. Why is this, you may ask? Why, when 99% of everything written about them is purely awful, why do I waste my time? I personally blame the bat that fell on my head when I was four. That, and I try to stick to the 1%. Anyways, funny little tidbits you will notice about well written vampires: 1)They talk, _a lot_; and 2) They like bad puns. There are several more rules, but I think I'll cover a few of them in every chapter that features Vlad.**

**And no, Vlad technically is not a vampire. He _was, _but he died at some point in the 1870's (via Bowie knife, funnily enough). It would therefore make sense, in my opinion, that certain things, wouldn't necessarily transfer over in his afterlife, like blood-drinking, etc. His personality most certainly would, though, and I tried to convey that.**

**As for the issue of Sarah's age; yes, she's 15 still. I've honestly, for the most part, felt that Labyrinth fanfiction doesn't deal very well with the age factor. Don't worry - I don't plan on anything overly gropey. That's all I'm going to say, lest I ruin plot.  
**


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